If there was anythin’ headin’ our way, I’d a’seen it.

Rose pointed again.

“There it is,” she said.

I frowned and followed her finger. No one’s eyes were better than mine, and there was no wagon, nor anythin’ else comin’ from that direction. Not man, beast, nor bird.

And then there was.

Far off in the horizon, I was able to make out the wispy lines of somethin’ that weren’t there a few seconds earlier. It was so far away it could a’been anythin’, but a half hour later I could see it was a covered wagon, pulled by two oxen. Another half hour passed, and the man and woman sittin’ in the front waved at us.

“They’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” I said.

Rose said, “They’re not alone.”

“You mean there’s more folks in the wagon?”

“There’s a child. And something else.”

“What, a dog? A cat?”

“No.”

“Then what?” I said.

“Death.”

 


 

 

 

24.

 

It didn’t seem like no death wagon to me. In fact, the man and woman seemed right friendly, judgin’ by how many times they waved at us while approachin’. Their wagon was weathered and gray, and covered with a dirt-colored canvass that had probably started out bein’ white. The wheels hadn’t been greased in awhile, causin’ ’em to make an angry squeal with each turn. Someone had attached half-barrels of water on each side of the wagon, and I wondered how much water might be in ’em. When they got about ten minutes from us, their little girl joined them on the wagon seat. She looked to be eight or nine, and from this distance seemed to have very little expression on her face. She had blond hair and blue eyes and wore a gray dress that looked to be made of burlap, and a blue necklace that seemed too old for her.

The whores and Phoebe wanted to run and greet ’em, but I put a stop to that nonsense right quick. I told ’em to take up positions on and around the wagons and keep their rifles in their hands or on their laps.

“That’s rude,” Phoebe said.

“Maybe so,” I said, “but it don’t pay to be too friendly on the prairie. At least ’til you know who you’re bein’ friendly to.”

The family pulled their wagon to a noisy stop about forty feet from us. Then the man, one of the biggest I’d ever seen, climbed down and started walkin’ toward me.

I stayed on my horse.

“Howdy,” he said, extendin’ his hand.

“That’s close enough,” I said.

He stopped abruptly.

“Anythin’ wrong?” he said. “It’s just me and the missus, and our daughter.”

I looked at the woman and child on the bench seat. The little girl stared straight ahead, like we weren’t there. Though she showed no expression, her ma seemed right nervous.

“I don’t shake hands,” I said. “Nothin’ personal.”

“You a gunman?” he said.

“Nothin’ personal,” I repeated.

“That’s quite all right,” he said. He looked at the wagons and the women in ’em. “Whatcha got there?”

“A few folks headin’ west.”

Some of the ladies waved at the little girl. Instead of wavin’ back, she stared straight ahead. I’d a’ thought she’d be itchin’ to run visit the women, but guessed she’d been told to stay put ’til her pa said it was okay.

“Looks like a bunch of women, dressed like men,” the man said, wavin’ at ’em. “And one of ’em’s got a yaller face. She ain’t diseased, is she?”

I looked him over. He wore the biggest cowboy hat I ever saw.